


Of Glasses, Bedroom Sheets, and Rambling Thoughts

by Diary



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst and Feels, Changing Tenses, Condoms, Introspection, Jane Margolis Lives, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, POV Jesse Pinkman, Pansexual Jesse Pinkman, Past Jane Margolis/Jesse Pinkman, Post-Episode AU: S02E11 Mandala, Queer Walter White, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, Self-Reflection, Somewhat Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. A character study of Jesse in a friends-with-benefit type relationship with Walt. Complete.
Relationships: Jesse Pinkman/Walter White
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Of Glasses, Bedroom Sheets, and Rambling Thoughts

Jesse doubts he still has it, but he remembers a comment Mr White wrote on some test or homework assignment. He doesn’t remember the exact words, but it was about how he could manage to fail an open-book assignment.

It _wasn’t_ an open-book one, he knows for sure. Back then, Mr White never would have given those, plus, he’s still alive. If he’d managed to fail an open-book assignment, quiet, calm, stick-up-his-ass, no cancer, no part in the meth trade Mr White would have snapped, killed him, and done better with body disposal than he’d managed to do with-

He’d been tempted to ask, _well, what if I don’t have a textbook, yo_ , or _what if I had some learning disability_ , or _what if_ _the way you asked the question was so confusing_ _that I couldn’t find the answer even if I read the whole damn book front-to-back_.

But he’d known the answer to all those questions. Mr White would have gotten him a textbook, Mr White has always been good with people who have learning disabilities, treating them like he would his son, giving them extra-help when needed but never babying them, and back then, he was the type of hardass but fair teacher, who, if a student could prove his question on an assignment wasn’t fair, he’d throw the question out.

That comment hadn’t ruined anything back then, but now, his stupid brain is insisting on thinking about it instead of letting him fall asleep.

Beside him, Mr White’s breathing completely evens out, and there’s fumbling for glasses.

He doesn’t know if Skyler is still Mrs White or Ms White or whatever her maiden name was. He figures, eventually, Mr White will go on a ramblin’ streak, and it’ll come out whether divorce has happened, will happen soon, or isn’t likely to happen in the future.

Whether Mr White is still sleeping with her now, still having sex with her, he wonders, in the past, did Mr White wear his glasses during the act?

Go to sleep, please, just go to sleep, he insists to himself.

“Is it okay if I use the shower?”

“Yeah, help yourself, yo.”

There’s a swirl of cold when Mr White gets up, and if he could go to sleep now-

The shower’s too loud. There’s a few faint coughs.

He’s still wide-awake when the bathroom door reopens.

…

It didn’t start the night Mr White saved Jane, but it’s the point his mind usually focuses on.

They shot up. They fell asleep.

In the morning, she was gone, and Mr White was sitting nearby looking at him with even more disgust than usual.

He’s not proud of the things he remembers doing, saying, but he was confused, panicked.

Until that day he got her letter, he was half-convinced Mr White had lied, that he’d killed her, disposed of the body. The fact her own father backed up Mr White’s story-

“I came by- I’m not completely sure why,” Mr White said. “You were- I thought you might have been dead. But you weren’t. While I was trying to help you, she started to vomit. She was on her back, too far into her drug-induced state to wake up, to automatically roll over. I got her stabilised, and then, I called her father. He came to take her to the hospital.”

He wasn’t with anyone all that time she was in rehab. Whenever she called, he talked to her for as long as he could. He wrote letters, made sure to keep hers and the drawings she sent safe.

Then, “I can’t do this to my father again, Jesse. He’s taking early retirement, and we’re moving. For what it’s worth, I did want New Zealand with you, but- the first commitment I need to make is to try to make things right between us. I don’t think I can’t get fully better until I do.”

He didn’t handle it well.

…

Eventually, he realised he really did need someone to help him. It was either his parents or Mr White, and he knew neither would be quick to forgive and especially not trust.

Mr White didn’t look pissed when he showed up after school.

“Hey, uh, I would have called, but-”

“If you’re desperate for money again-”

There was anger, but he pushed it down. Mostly, it hurt, but he knew when he was heading over it would.

“No. Look, Mr White, I’m clean.”

“Good for you,” was the sarcastic reply.

Mr White wasn’t even looking at him, and when he set the cup he found down on the desk, Mr White’s surprise when he looked up, confusion was probably a better word, was real.

“Come on. I’ll prove it.”

Scoffing filled the room. “Tell me, why do you think I care? Why should I?”

“Because, you came to me that night Jane almost overdosed, yo. You said it yourself, you were worried about me.”

“Technically, I said I was worried you were dead. There are plenty reasons that would have been worrying that have nothing to do with me caring personally about you.”

“Whatever. I want back in the business. With you. Partners. Look, Mr White, I’m not asking for any money until I earn it. You wanted me clean, I’m clean. I’d rather not pee in here, though, and I think you’d rather me not, too. So. Come on. I still remember where the nearest bathroom around this place is, or we could go to whatever store sells those drug testing kits you were talking about, man, and I’ll do it in their bathroom.”

…

Mr White didn’t trust him, but that wasn’t really anything new.

He stayed clean. He got Aunt Ginny’s house back. All the things he did and said after Jane broke up with him, before he decided to get clean, started to fade.

Then, one day, their usual store was out of drug testing kits, and he’ll admit he was bitching about having to go to some other one when Mr White said, “I need to get home. I don’t have time for this, either.”

“Alright, so, tomorrow? Or skip until next week? I swear, it’ll be the same.”

He thought about offering to get the kit himself, but he didn’t want to, didn’t feel he should have to pay for it, didn’t want to take the time out of his life, and he knew- the thing is, he doubted he could tamper with one of those stupid kits, but if Mr White decided he might have, he knew he couldn’t prove he didn’t.

“No,” Mr White sighed. “Jesse, I hope you’ll- I can’t keep doing this. Either you stay clean, or you don’t. If you don’t, you’ll undoubtedly screw up soon enough. If you do- I hope you do. Last week was the last time. If you become a liability again, then, that’s it. Our partnership will be irrevocably severed. Do you understand?”

…

It’s always been him inside.

When they first kissed, he’d gotten on his knees.

Six times, and only two times has involved him blowing Mr White.

He’d been sure it’d be him having his ass invaded, but it’s not.

For all he’s definitely not complaining, his mind won’t stop: Is this really what Mr White wants? Does he ever want anything different?

He might have constantly been failing in Chemistry class, but he knew more than Mr White ever gave him credit for. He heard Mr White talking about his family with others enough to know: Mrs White ran things at home, and little Walter Junior was everything Mr White wished his students were. Probably not the whole always needing crutches part, but for all he heard enough to get sharp enough of a picture that he wasn’t doubtful at all when Mrs White first introduced herself, he didn’t get as full a one of Mr White’s boy.

Blood likely played a big part, but other than this, smart (no kid of Mr White’s wouldn’t be, he doubts) and apparently a little bit of a smart-aleck at times but not bad enough Mr White ever seriously bitched about him.

The one time back then that Mr White had actually been nice to him was when he came in with crutches for a few days. He’d fallen off a ladder when he was trying to put Christmas lights up for Aunt Ginny. It’d just been a sprained ankle, but Mr White had said, if he needed to go to the nurse, to just go, he didn’t need to ask. Asked what happened, and he remembers it’d been a nice conversation; they’d both laughed.

Mr White had told him what might help with the pain, and he’d done it.

He’d made a card, a way to say thanks, but- he couldn’t give it to Mr White.

Making meth is what he’s good at now, what Mr White is interested in, and if he wanted to stop the sex, he doubts Mr White would care.

He also doubts Mr White would get how screwed up this is if he tried to explain.

For a long time, Mr White was happily married, and if Mr White wants casual sex now, he’s really the last person to judge, but he’s always tried to pay close attention to anyone he might sleep with. If he thought they were more into him than he was them, he scaled back, tried to do it nicely. He isn’t like Jane and Mr White, taking sex and hanging out and working together but not caring if the other person might want more.

…

He does feel guilty for Mr White missing Holly’s birth.

In an old shoebox, he has a wrapped up- It was supposed to be an apology or a thank you or something, but when he was done making it, he remembered. Mr White would be frothing if he tried to give it to him. Or would just throw it away after taking it.

He doesn’t even know if the baby sleeps in a crib or playpen or with her mom or Mr White or both or her big brother, and there’s a chance it could fall if it was hung up, and even if things go bad with him and Mr White, he’d never go after the White family.

More than possibly hitting her, it could be a choking hazard. He remembers how Jake was grabbing things at around three months, stuffing anything he could into his mouth. Their parents refused to let him have a pacifier and gave him bottles on a schedule, and so, he’d wash his hands and let Jake suck on his fingers.

Mr White’s hair will probably regrow, but he was bald when Holly was born. He’d carved the figure bald with a normal Mr White outfit except he’d added a cape. He’d wanted to put an ‘M’ on the shirt, but he’d decided a ‘CM’ would be safer. He could say it stood for Chemistry Man or the fact Mr White got a masters in chemistry or something higher.

He’d been careful not to make Mrs White too- he wasn’t going to leave her completely flat-chested and without any hips, that would have been unrealistic, but the figure just looks like a nice, pretty mom.

Junior was the easiest, except, for a long time, he wasn’t sure whether to add crutches or not. Finally, he decided, like Mr White being bald, Walter Junior used crutches when she was born, and besides, something could happen, he hoped it didn’t but it could, and she might need crutches like her big brother someday.

…

It’s warm, and he thinks he can feel a bruise forming on his hip from Mr White’s tight grip earlier.

Mr White’s never said not to leave any marks on Mr White, but better safe than sorry. If it weren’t for being safe, though, he’d suck a hickey right on Mr White’s chest where the radiation dot used to be.

He considers opening a window, but the warmth is nice, and he doesn’t want to disrupt the feeling on his hip. Lines form in his mind, and going by the feeling, he moves them around.

There’s a soft sound of glasses being picked up, and he realises he’s been blinking in and out of darkness as he messes with the lines.

Then, he wakes up, and with the smell of Mr White’s cologne and aftershave hitting his nose, he wonders if Mr White stayed the night, left just a few minutes ago.

When he sits up, though, it hits him: No. Him not knowing when exactly Mr White left doesn’t mean Mr White did anything different. Didn’t sleep beside him.

It’s stupid to pretend based on-

I need to change things, he thinks. Accepts. Finally realises.

He wants some simple dope, a beer, but for all he’d argue these aren’t gateways for normal people, for all this is one thing he and Mr White actually agree on, that the government is responsible for more addicts than any drug dealer ever has been, the things he wants changed only have a chance at going well if he doesn’t end up relapsing into harder drugs.

…

“Jesse. Are you sure about this?”

Well, he was until Mr White asked it like _that_.

Taking a deep breath, he feels the surety come back. He’s never done this before. The most he got was giving handjobs to some guys when he was high and the two times he’s blown Mr White.

He knows Mr White won’t be an asshole about this, though. He’ll go slow at first, and if it’s safe and painless, he’ll speed up later on.

“Yeah, man, I’m sure. I wouldn’t say I was if I weren’t.” At the look on Mr White’s face- his expression might have a point, but since he doesn’t think this is a case of Mr White not wanting this (the noticeable bulge that’s only grown since he said the words is a good clue) so much as Mr White genuinely thinks he’s not capable of deciding he himself wants this makes him prickly inside.

“Yo, come on, don’t be a bitch about this. We’re two consenting adults. If I don’t like it, I’ll say so, and if you don’t, I’ll listen. I wanna know how it feels.”

And so, he ends up lying gasping on his stomach, and he wishes they’d done this sooner. A little discomfort at parts, normal, from what he’s heard, but no pain, and he’s never seen stars like this behind his eyes whenever he was the one inside, and this is the first time sober that he’s seeing them.

Afterwards, he wonders if he made Mr White feel like this.

It’s all good until Mr White goes to shower, then, leaves, and it never hurt like this before.

…

“Separate rooms, Jesse,” Mr White insists.

It sort of joking, teasing, like it’s obvious and funny, because, it’s obvious.

“Why? I get the separate beds, twins or double or whatever, but one of us having to walk back to a room once we’re done-”

“Done with what? What makes you think anything is going to happen?”

Calling Mr White an idiot might ruin this whole trip.

He doesn’t know how it works with married people, he was too grossed out when he fully realised that him and Jake had been the result of his parents doing more than literal sleeping together in bed to ever let those thoughts fully re-enter his head, and he doesn’t want to think about how things might be or maybe were between Mr and Mrs White, but relationship beyond meth-making or not, they have been having sex on the regular. He can pick up when Mr White is horny, when he’s too tired, when he’s really wanting a certain thing.

Mr White has been wanting him all day, and if not for the stupid no-sex-in-the-RV rule (Mr White gets the raw end of coin tosses enough that he knows Mr White didn’t cheat, but still, he’s managed to mark that particular quarter, and, if he can, is throwing it in some sewer or something soon)-

He can jack off. He could go find someone (but won’t, and he’s not sure if he wants Mr White to know that or would be pissed at Mr White not).

Mr White, though, doesn’t seem to get much of anything from jacking off, and screwing him is one thing, but he doubts Mr White, even if divorced, could go through with finding some complete stranger to have a one-night stand with.

The curtains are all closed, they’re safely parked, and so, he gets on Mr White’s lap. “Well, how fast you’re responding to this is one clue. Look, more than that, why is it a big deal? If you don’t want pizza, I’m still ordering pizza, yo, but otherwise, we’ll play by all your rules, and I don’t do anything majorly weird in my sleep. I can sleep with or without the TV, and if it’s on, I’ll make sure it stays at a reasonable volume, same with any music I play.”

“Jesse-” Hands settle on his back. “I don’t know if I do anything in my sleep or not.”

“You haven’t on your shifts to sleep, yo. Besides, I’ve slept in the same room with a lot of different people over the years, Mr White. You think all of them were calm, quiet, no snoring, kicking, talkin’ in their sleep, and even worse?”

There’s a sigh. “Alright. But you’ll be the one checking us in.”

“Fine by me.”

…

He’s never ridden Mr White before.

Now, Mr White has his glasses on, and the last thing he wants is for this to stop, but he has to close his eyes.

He’s seen Mr White’s face during sex before, and he doubts the glasses make much a difference.

What does is- It’s not that Mr White’s face has suddenly become beautiful, because, it hasn’t, but seeing it is too much. It makes him feel too good and scared in ways he can’t figure out himself.

Afterwards, he slumps down, and for all he still thinks Mr White is a dick (and that all quarters have decided to hate him today), part of him is now glad they did this on his bed instead of Mr White’s. Clean-up will definitely be a bitch, but at least, he doesn’t have to try to move until much later. He can stay here, enjoying the feel of Mr White against him until Mr White moves, and then, he can be wrapped in the smell and warmth for awhile, at least.

“I need to call Skyler.”

“If you want privacy, you leave. Feels too good to move, yo.”

There’s a chuckle, and Mr White rubs his back.

Unfortunately, that lasts too short before Mr White is getting up, and grabbing his phone, he heads to the bathroom.

He can’t hear the conversation, but Mr White’s tone sounds calm. Not sad, not angry, not big-time happy.

Coming out, Mr White cleans him some. “I’ll order that pizza for you. Do you want your usual?”

“Always. Thanks, Mr White.”

…

“One day, your metabolism is going to catch up to you.”

“Did all that biking and eating healthy keep you from catching cancer, yo?”

“I could have ate healthier. In addition, cancer is not ‘caught’ in the way-”

He doesn’t bother stopping himself from rolling his eyes. “Whatever, man. Hey, I remember you once said that, technically, most pizzas fill out recommended requirements or something involving the food pyramid.”

“Why am I not surprised _that’s_ one of the things you remember?”

Because, I caught you on a good day and asked about what sort of things, hypothetically, a person with cancer should and shouldn’t eat, he thinks. I was worried about Aunt Ginny wanting to start having weekly pizza nights, and you made a majorly lame joke when we were talking.

Sorry I didn’t laugh. Wish I had. It was, like, majorly lame, but maybe, you would have smiled. Not been such a hardass when I failed a test three days later. I could have showed you the picture of the last time me and Aunt Gin went out to eat, told you about how I was a dumbass who accidentally spilt my soda all over the place, but this kid, just a little older than me, cleaned it up, flirted with her, was just a really nice person to this dying lady and her idiot nephew, nicer than his job required.

He knows he never would’ve told Mr White that and probably never will. He felt pretty much the same way about Mr White that he did about his parents back then, only, actually, he liked and respected them more, not that this was much, but more, than he did Mr White.

“The thing is, pot makes most people hungry. It’s an appetite booster, right? And there were definitely times I got the munchies, yo, but I’ve been eating more since I quit.”

“Speaking of- um, how’s that going?”

Before he can say anything, Mr White continues, “I’m not trying to start anything, Jesse. I’m genuinely simply curious how you’ve been handling things.”

He’s not sure he believes him, but he doesn’t want to start anything, either. “Some people, they really mean it when they say they can quit whenever they want. If I’m being really honest, some of it, the heroin, the meth, it was hard, but a month happened, then, another, and by the third or fourth, I was better. I still want pot and beer sometimes, but it’s more like I want pancakes or pizza or a certain soda than I’m desperate to have it.”

Seeing Mr White is looking at him closely but doesn’t seem ready to call bullshit, he relaxes a little. “I guess I’m lucky. You know, uh, I don’t want it to sound like I’m blaming my parents, because, I’m not, but I started pot before I went to live with Ginny. I was always disappointing them. I never could do anything right even when I was doing nothing. And it made me feel better, and when I started dealing, having that money, being able to buy what I wanted, when I wanted, it was sweet, yo.”

“I misjudged you,” Mr White quietly says. “Back then. I’m sorry. If your parents and I had- done something different or tried harder or, I suppose, both, then-”

“Hey, yo, don’t go that way. I wouldn’t be here now. I am sorry you got cancer, Mr White, but I can think of so many ways things could have been worse for me. All-in-all, I don’t have anything major to complain about right now.”

Jane could have died. They could have been killed several times over. He could have lost Aunt Ginny’s house for good. He could have chickened out, not kissed Mr White, and assuming things stayed good between him and Mr White without sex coming into play, he’d be sleeping in a one-bed hotel room right now, most likely having to settle for his hand.

…

His doorbell rings at midnight, and trying to remember if there’s anything Badger or Skinny Pete left behind recently that will make the cop or DEA at the door be unreasonable, he manages to fall over- something.

It rings again.

“Alright, I’m coming, yo!”

Half there, he realises he got wet paint on his shirt, and tossing it off, he considers going back to find another one.

The bell rings again.

“Look, if someone called in a noise com-” It’s Mr White at his door. “Mr W. Oh, good, you’re not the police or your dickwad brother-in-law. I wasn’t sure why they’d be here, but there’s this old Mormon lady down the block, a real bitch, yo, who insists I stole her fancy opera gloves from her car. The police actually found them in her glove compartment, but she won’t back down on the idea I must have somehow put them back after stealing them. I wouldn’t put it past her to call in a noise complaint or some shit like that.”

Taking a breath, he realises: Mr White looks-

“Is something wrong?”

“Do you think I could possibly stay here for the night?”

“What? I mean, yeah, of course. Come in. You got anything in your car you need brought in? Things do tend to get stolen from cars in this neighbourhood sometimes, but for the record, I legit didn’t steal her gloves. Or anything else! I’m not the thief.”

…

Sitting down across from the couch, he insists, “Drink.”

Mr White had wanted coffee, but coffee at midnight added to whatever’s going on, and he doubts Mr White would do any real sleeping during the night.

Sighing, Mr White sips the water. “Jesse, I really am fine. I’m still healthy.”

“Good. Uh, so, you could have Aunt Gin’s old bedroom, I just need to change the sheets, or you could sleep with me in my room. Whatever you want.”

“I should probably explain why I’m here.”

“If you want, yo. Look, Mr White, I’m not comparing you to, well, anyone else I know, but it’s not my usual style to ask questions when someone shows up needing a place to crash.”

“How comforting.”

“Hey, don’t be a dick.”

“Fair enough.” Setting the water down, Mr White leans back. “I could just sleep here.”

“I don’t think your back would thank you for that. Come on, you have a choice of two beds. Both clean.”

His parents pop into his head, and there’s the vague thought he should offer to sleep on the couch himself, let Mr White have his bed, but screw that.

He _would_ let his parents or Jake have his bed, but-

“I’ll take your aunt’s old room.”

“Awesome. Let me go change the sheets real quick. Hey, uh, help yourself to some, I think I have leftover popcorn in the fridge. I haven’t been to the store yet.”

He’s a little worried at the lack of a sarcastic response, but other than looking tired, Mr White does look okay.

Going upstairs, he finds he doesn’t have the clean set of sheets he thought he had.

The ones on Aunt Ginny’s old bed do need to be changed. Skinny P and Badger brought over a dog they were dog-sitting last week, and the dog was awesome, but it shed a lot.

His’ll have to do. They’re not clean-clean, but there’s no fur, soda, or food on them, and they might smell a little like him, but after all the times they’ve camped in the RV, Mr White should be used to his smell by now.

“Jesse.”

Sure, he jumped, but at least, he didn’t fall again.

“You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

Getting the sheets redone, Mr White says, “I’ll sleep in here.”

 _Make up your mind_ , he wants to say, but Mr White might leave. They might argue, and he knows it’d be harsh tonight, not their usual type of arguing where Mr White is all about being boring and he’s all about pointing out things no pansy-ass, nose-always-in-a-book person wouldn’t have the sense to get.

He’s watching Mr White undress, it’s something he’s done close to a million times, but it hits him: They’ll be sleeping in the bed. Together. No sex, no two-beds in a hotel room, no cots close to each other.

Just go with it, he tells himself. It’ll be fine. Don’t do anything stupid.

When he’s gotten his own pants off, Mr White is down to an under-shirt and his tighty-whiteys, and it’s clear he plans to sleep like this.

“Which side do you want,” he asks.

Mr White gets settled, and pushing away thoughts of getting a shirt to put on away, he turns off the light before crawling in.

God, it feels so good.

He knows he needs to stay awake until Mr White actually falls into sleep, but he quickly finds himself dreaming.

…

Waking up, Mr White is gone, and he’s not going to let this hurt. He’ll call later, hopefully, Mr White will answer his cell, because, he doesn’t know if Mr White will even be at home to answer-

The smell of bacon and eggs hits him.

Looking around, he clarifies to himself: He is at Aunt Gin’s, not his parents. She was allergic to eggs, and so, this isn’t her alive.

Going to the kitchen, he finds Mr White making breakfast, and this makes sense, but it also kind of doesn’t.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’, Mr White. Did I have all this stuff and not know it?”

“No. I got up early and went to the store. There’s pineapple.” Mr White gestures.

“Ah, hell, yes! Thanks, Mr White.”

When they sit down to eat, Mr White says, “Thank you for letting me stay last night.”

“Stay as long as you want, yo. Just, uh, tell me: You are okay? For real?”

“Yes, Jesse. For real. I’m fine. I’m just not living at home right now.”

“Sorry. My offer’s good, though. If you want, you can stay here. I can wash some sheets for Aunt Ginny’s old bed, or you can keep sleeping with me.”

“I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Your loss.”

…

He couldn’t back up saying Mr White is being unfair during sex, but Mr White is.

It slipped out, “Oh, shit, yo, I need-”, and he’d just, maybe not ignore it, but he wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t hold someone’s wrists down, stare at them in the eyes, asking all soft and nice what they need, _talk to me, Jesse_.

The hands aren’t keeping him in place. If he said stop, things would stop.

They’re keeping from covering his mouth, his eyes, from doing something to make it speed up a little instead of having to deal with the too-much good feeling of Mr White slow but firm, powerful, inside him.

Mr White’s wearing his glasses; that’s probably part of it.

He has a good balance going in his life lately, and if he can get through this without screwing it up-

Stars float through his closed eyes, and they open automatically.

“Tell me, Jesse. Please.”

“I love you,” comes out.

There’s only two choices: Awkward or cruelty.

Fair or not, Mr White chooses awkward.

They finish, and lying beside him, Mr White shifts. “Jesse, um-”

“Don’t. I know you care about me. Think you like me more than you want to, even. But I’m telling you right now: Don’t ever say it back. ‘Cause, I’d never, ever believe you, yo. You don’t need to, like, let me down gently or anything. Apologise.”

“I’m-”

Chancing a look, he feels exasperation. It’s the look of, ‘how can you possibly feel like this’, and it almost always pisses him off when someone gets that look around him.

There’s something else mixed in, and Mr White has made enough comments here and there that he knows things like age difference and the fact the cancer could come back and other things are sometimes on Mr White’s mind.

He isn’t up for trying to soothe any of this. He’s always thought people who ask, ‘Tell me why you love me,’ are asking a question that can’t be answered. People change. Liking someone might be explainable, but once someone loves someone, they just do. He doesn’t know if it’s chemicals in the brain or something beyond science (not that Mr White will ever really buy such things existing). There might be some big steps, but he really doesn’t think even people really good at retracing steps to find keys can go back with a clear memory to say, ‘Yeah, I felt that, then, it contributed or whatever to me eventually falling in love or considering this person to be in the same league as my actual little bro.’

Maybe some people can stop loving, but he’s never been able to. And he doesn’t think he wants to.

Mr White’s phone rings, and recognising the ringtone, he never thought he’d be grateful for Walter Junior (or maybe Flynn, now) calling his dad after they’d just finished having sex, but if he actually knew the kid, he’d see about maybe decorating his crutches to be mad awesome or something.

…

Looking more like the Mr White he knew back in high school than he has in a long time, Mr White says, “We should talk about-” He sighs.

Keeping his own in, he finishes putting the lab gear on. “I’m cool, Mr W. Really. I didn’t want to say it, but I did, and now, we need to just move on.”

“It’s not that simp-”

“Here’s the 4-1-1, yo: I know you and everyone thinks it’s lack of ambition or motivation or whatever, but what it really is, I’m good at accepting the things I can’t change. Maybe you can always find a way to change things, but I can’t. My parents always made me feel like crap, and I always made them feel that way, too. No amount of talking would change that. And I could only be different, more like what they wanted, for so long.”

“So, I pretty much stopped trying. I couldn’t stop my aunt from dying no matter how much I prayed and cried in my room and always made sure she ate something and drank, at least, three glasses of water every day. When she did, it hurt, but she did a decent job of preparing me for it. If this world wasn’t a bitch about so many stupid things, maybe I wouldn’t be doing something illegal to make a living, but I am, and it’s working.”

“Working with you is working, Mr White. You feel me? I really like the sex. With Jane, I handled things badly at first, and I admit that, okay, but I got a clear head. If I love her- I’d want anyone I care about to be healthy, have a good relationship with their family, be happy if they can. I almost killed her, made things bad between her and her old man again, and if getting away from me is what helps maybe fix all that, then, I have to accept it.”

Mr White nods, and he can tell Mr White’s really thinkin’ over his words.

“About Skyler and I-”

“Don’t do that, either. I don’t care about if you talk about your kids, and legit, I’m cool with you mentioning her, too, but unless this conversation is going to be about how it’s possible for me and you to have more than a business relationship with some friendship and, hopefully, a lot more sex mixed in or unless it’s about how the sex has to go off the table, which would suck but I’d respect, then, I don’t care if you’re married to her, divorced, separated, whatever, yo. Wasn’t me who married her, isn’t me who might be cheating, and yo, it’s not me who cares if you are or aren’t cheating.”

Great, Mr White is really angry; Mr White used to be the type who wouldn’t ever cheat, and for all he’s cool with his part in the meth trade now, this is more personal. Mr White has been trying to do all this for his family, and the fact he might end up hurting them some in the process-

Well, he’s not apologising for his words. If he gets yelled at or worse-

Except, he sees the anger going down.

“Fair enough,” Mr White softly says.

…

Parking the RV, he says, “Hey, yo. Don’t ride my ass, I’m only thirty minutes late.”

Closing the door, Mr White glares. “Thirty minutes? Try an hour and twenty minutes, Jesse! What did you manage to-”

“I’m here, the supplies are here, you didn’t have anything better to do anyways. Just put your seatbelt on, and we can go.”

“You didn’t even do me the courtesy of calling. Tell me, what was I supposed to think?”

“Alright, I’m sorry for not calling, but sometimes, shit comes up. Seatbelt.”

Putting it on, Mr White looks at him. “Am I to presume there’s some new girl?”

“I wasn’t late because of a girl, man.”

This isn’t- exactly true, but it’s not in the way Mr White is thinking.

Wendy showed up with her kid at three in the morning, and then, disappeared once the kid fell asleep. So, he’s spent his morning trying to find some place to safely store the kid, and once he did, he had to find her.

It’s all cool, though. She and her boy are going to be crashing at Skinny P’s sister’s place for a few days.

“Do you- have a girlfriend? Keep female company on occasion? Or um-”

“What are you, a Victorian like Scrooge or whatever? Even back in school, I don’t think you were so uptight, man.”

He’s surprised at how blunt Mr White is in re-asking the question.

“Not your business,” he says.

“Perhaps not, but-”

“No ‘buts’, Mr White. Legit, it’s not your business. We always use condoms, I always show you my test results when they come in. I’m sorry I was late, but screwing some girl wasn’t the reason. Or some- uh, dude.”

“What if- I wanted to talk about the possibility of you not being with anyone else?”

At first, he’s not sure he heard everything, but once it hits in, he finds a place to park.

Mr White hasn’t had a look like this in a long time. Almost soft, almost afraid, bordering on shy.

He was a kid the first time he saw it, and that was when he really started to get that the annoying teacher might have a life beyond being annoying.

He wishes he could remember what caused it, who or what Mr White was looking at. It wasn’t him, but he was nearby enough he can remember it clearly. Did Mr White even know he was there?

His mind can only wonder these things for so long before he has to face the fact: This is something he does and doesn’t want. More of Mr White in some ways, less in others.

He’s no one’s bitch, but yeah, in some ways, he’s been Mr White’s since that first night Mr White showed up at his house. When he got down on his knees that first time, part of him knew there wasn’t going to be anyone else, hopefully for a long time.

“If you want to talk about it, then, talk.”

At Mr White’s look, though, he has to take some pity.

“Whether I’ve been with anyone else or not, seriously, it’s not your business. But if you want it to just be you, then, it’s only me and maybe Skyler. I still don’t care what’s going on in your relationship status with her, yo, but whatever, she’s your wife or was. You have two kids with her. The only way I’m promising exclusivity, though, is if I get roughly the same.”

“And that’d be enough?”

“Yeah. I’ve never cheated on anyone, Mr White. All those girls I dated or just hooked up with, I made it clear what I wanted, tried to make sure I was clear about what they did. If they wanted more than me, I tried to be nice about ending things, but if we both said no one else, then, I was never with anyone but them ‘til we ended.”

“I mean, I’d be enough for you?”

He can’t keep his scoff in.

_You make me see stars sometimes. If I was the type of person who just said, ‘I love you,’ when the sex was good, then, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to keep it in, yo. And yeah, I still love you. Scared to shit your cancer could come back, but I stayed with Aunt Gin ‘til the end, I’d do the same with you._

He has to accept that Mr White is never going to fully understand stuff like this, and so, looking him in the eye, he says, “Yes.”

Mr White can take it or leave it.

“Then, I’d like for it to be just you and me. I won’t bring up Skyler.”

“I told you that I don’t care if you do. Just don’t go into details about whatever’s going on unless it’s about us needing to change our relationship in some form, yo.”

Mr White nods, and suddenly, he’s not sure he can handle this. Happiness is flooding through him, a natural high, but his stomach is turning, because, what if this isn’t really happening? Plus, he’s just not used to feeling this _good_ ; hasn’t happened in a long time.

“Hey, uh, any chance we could be a little more later, find some place to celebrate?”

…

He’s been stupid in the past about not using condoms, but he got lucky, no diseases, no babies, hopefully, no pregnancies that he wasn’t told about, either.

Now, he hopes he never has to use them again. Back then- this was decided, and it’s awesome. He remembers preferring sex without, but he doesn’t think it ever felt this level before.

Finishing cleaning him, Mr White kisses him. “Could I stay the night?”

“Yeah, sure.” He moves to make more room.

“Unfortunately, I’d need to leave early in the morning.”

“That’s cool. Uh, here.” Digging through his night-stand, he finds one of his spare keys. “Here. I don’t think I have any OJ, but there’s a fresh deal of apple juice. I’ll try to make a list for the shopping this weekend, and if you want something, you can add it.”

He’s not sure what to make of the look on Mr White’s face as Mr White studies the key, but setting it back down, Mr White smiles. “Thank you, Jesse.”

“No problem. You getting into bed soon? It’s getting chilly, yo.”

Mr White slips underneath the covers, and feeling warmth evening out through him, he breathes in the smell, enjoys the feelings going through his body, and his dreams are bright, colourful, and happy.


End file.
